Daily Life
by MoyaKite
Summary: Sweden, Finland, and Sealand have a regular routine. (Family fluff with SuFin romance. Human names used. Warnings: FLUFF.)


Birthday present for rico-pico on Tumblr. She gave me five words and requested fluffy, domestic SuFin fluff with Sealand as a family. The prompt word opens each drabble. I hope that you enjoy it.

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*** **ROUTINE** ***

Every morning, Berwald got up, kissed Tino on the forehead, and got up to turn on the space heater in the hopes that it'd encourage him to get out of bed. He pulled on his clothes—typically in the dark, since Tino would groan and hide under the covers otherwise—and then stumbled out into the hall, heading to Peter's room.

Some mornings, Peter had been awake for hours, attempting to learn how to climb walls; more than once he'd managed to drop from the ceiling onto Berwald's head with a high-pitched war cry. Berwald would oblige him on days like that by clutching at his heart and falling onto Peter's bed to be sure that Peter didn't bang his head on the floor or walls.

"Phoenix down, phoenix down!" Peter would then shout, hitting Berwald in the face with a pillow and missing the irony.

"I live," Berwald would grunt. "Now get dressed."

Other mornings—particularly after late nights spent star gazing or waiting for Santa—Peter would hide under his blankets like Tino was wont to do.

"Up and at 'em," Berwald would say, nudging the lump beneath the covers.

Peter did quite a good zombie impersonation on those mornings; Berwald always made sure to stay on hand in case Peter tripped over his own two feet, but Peter somehow managed to make it to the bathroom with his eyes closed to splash water on his face and rinse his mouth out.

At this point, Berwald would live him to go rouse Tino, who sometimes dragged him into bed and curled up on his chest to sleep. People always assumed that Tino was the weaker of the two, but Berwald knew that height had nothing to do with it. If he managed to get himself free, he'd then convince Tino to get up.

The best part of every morning, though, was sitting around the breakfast table as a family. Berwald loved to listen to Peter ramble about his often bizarre dreams, like the physical manifestation of death that had taken the form of a slug to seek vengeance on children, or the time he'd dreamt that he was suspended in a floating coconut a mile over the ocean.

Tino would reach under the table and squeeze Berwald's hand, and Berwald would not quite smile, but would squeeze back all the same.

*** **QUALITY TIME** ***

Late in the afternoon, once Tino and Berwald had finished with work and Peter had returned from school, they usually set aside at least an hour to spend time as a family. Berwald felt fortunate that most of the time they spent more than an hour getting wrapped up in various adventures, like the time Tino had decided to give Peter a death metal makeover and teach him how to scream properly, which had taken the better part of a week over vacation.

If the weather was good enough, they often preferred to go outside and investigate the surrounding areas. They would hike through forests or just work in their own garden.

When the weather was worse, however, they tended to stay inside. Their honorary son, Al, would sometimes come over to play with Peter, though he'd already graduated from college. He always brought the strangest games with him when he did: tabletop roleplaying games, board games, card games, video games... If it could be imagined and might be worth playing, it was likely that Al had a copy.

Some afternoons, Peter just wanted to draw. In Berwald's opinion, he was very skilled at capturing the essence of his subjects if not the specific details, which was a fair bit of talent to find in an eight-year-old.

"Look, Papa!" Peter said, holding up a drawing. "It's our family!"

Berwald leaned in for a better look and saw three figures in front of a crude house. Two of the figures had their arms around each other; the third was shorter and wearing a jet pack that had launched him over the roof.

"Next science project?" Berwald guessed, and Peter laughed, throwing his arms around Berwald's shoulders.

"You can be my jetpack, Papa!"

Berwald grunted, hefting Peter onto his back and making whooshing noises as he stood. He ran for the door—when he swung it open, his whooshing trailed off awkwardly. Tino stared back at him, wide-eyed.

"Papa's a rocket right now," Peter said.

"Of course," Tino replied, nodding. "Time for take off, I presume?"

"3, 2, 1," Peter cried, and Tino dove out of the way to let Berwald run out of the house, barely suppressing his laughter.

*** **AFFECTION** ***

Dinner was Tino's favorite time of the day. Berwald always let him experiment with making whatever he wanted in the kitchen, and Peter would eat anything. Tino liked to think about what they might enjoy, trying out new and fascinating combinations never conceived of before.

He wasn't like Peter's estranged brother, Arthur. He never burned the kitchen down. His experiments were just a bit _too _interesting at times.

But Berwald ate it no matter how bizarre it got, and Peter took it as a nightly challenge to clean his plate. If that wasn't love, Tino wasn't sure what was.

*** **ANNIVERSARY** ***

After dinner, on special occasions, Al would come pick up Peter and take him to a skate park or the movies, leaving Tino and Berwald to relax for an evening—and, if they were fortunate, an overnight.

In truth, Tino often became restless when Peter vanished for too long a time, as prolonged silence in the house often meant that Peter was getting up to secret mischief that would take hours to clean up. But Berwald would knead the tension out of Tino's shoulders, taking him to the sauna to relax.

Their anniversaries tended to be quiet affairs. A little quiet, a little snuggling. They were often too tired for more active pursuits. But if they were lucky enough to have Al take Peter for an overnight, they usually managed to have a good time.

*** **STORY TIME** ***

On nights when Peter did come home, though, 9pm would find them both crowded in tiny chairs beside Peter's bed. They'd take turns reading story books and give the characters funny voices; they'd regale one another with tall tales about bizarre things they'd encountered throughout the day.

By the time Peter had wound down and drifted off, Berwald and Tino were usually yawning themselves. Berwald would put an arm around Tino's shoulders, and Tino would nuzzle his cheek against Berwald's chest, and then they'd stumble back to their own room, curl up under warm, heavy blankets, and sleep tangled up in one another's arms. Berwald didn't mind waking up with pins and needles under his skin from his arm falling asleep in the night—he'd just kiss Tino's forehead and feel lucky to get to live it all over again.


End file.
